Johnlock Minifics
by AwkwardFalafel
Summary: A collection of Johnlock snippets. The stories are not connected. Some will be happy, some will be sad. All will be Johnlock. Rated T just in case. Please read and review!
1. Silence

He stands, hesitation evident in the slight quiver of his left hand, in the door frame, his back angled to the window and his eyes shaded by his curly, black hair. I stand, not facing him, but watching him desperately through a sidelong glance. I remain silent and his hesitation fades, he sighs and shuffles his feet in the doorway, now with just a few fingers brushed against the door knob to keep him here. To keep him safe and by my side. "Sherlock-" I begin, and he turns immediately, relief showing through his impenetrable mask, for just one moment before it is swallowed by his eerily neutral features. "I..." My mind is racing. I do not know what to say, how to tell him. "Good luck mate." He nods, almost disappointedly as if he knows what I wanted to say and wishes I had. Then he's gone, the doorknob cold and empty without the touch of his fingertips, the doorframe plain and silent without his ever commanding stature. I do not move, thinking only that I should have told him. That I love him, and that I have always loved him, that all the oceans and all the mountains and every man that ever was cannot keep me from  
loving him, that I shall wait for him until I fade from this world. Most of all I wish I had told him that he mattered to me, and that I cared. But he is gone, his presence irreversibly removed, his irresistible pull fading. I stand there, unmoving, barely breathing, memorising that last moment of peace, before he vanished. I feel nothing, only a deep, bitter sadness, as if all the warmth my love had given me was torn out and handed to the man I loved as he walked out the door and out of my life. I don't know how long I stand there, only that it was still light when he left and now it is dark. I turn, my muscles protesting at the movement, and look out the window. The stars shine bright and cold, near yet so far. "Per aspera ad astra," I whisper to myself. Perhaps one day he will return to me. But now, he is gone, and all that lies ahead is the stars, light and everlasting.


	2. Love is Not Original

Love is not original. I know this, I have always known this, and I have always thought that anyone who believed differently was a fool. But now, I'm not so sure. My love for Sherlock seems as original as the very first love. I always told myself I wouldn't become a fool who believed in true love, and love at first sight, and soul mates. But if you asked me to describe Sherlock and I, I would probably tell you all of those things. This love must be true love. I cannot accept the possibility that Sherlock was not meant for me and I for him. He is my everything, my perfect other half, his soul has been whispering to me all my life and now I've finally found him. If someone told me that Sherlock wasn't my soulmate, I don't think I would believe them. I don't think I could believe them. I, the man who would not be a fool, have fallen hopelessly and utterly in love. But for once, I don't regret it. Not now, not ever. Our love is not original. But it is to us.


	3. 3 AM Thoughts

I wake up at 3 AM, the streetlights flickering and shadows running across the white ceiling. And all I can think about is him. His arrogant posture when he is analysing a crime scene, his loud intelligence, overpowering everyone. But I don't mind. The way he stands still for hours, organising his mind palace and solving whatever Scotland Yard can't, which is most things. His eyes, oh those eyes. I could sink into them; if they were an ocean I would be happy to drown in them. The way he ruffles his hair, that curly raven-wings black hair. My favourite thing about him is his smile. Not his fake trying-to-get-information smile, but the genuine one. I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen that smile. The first time I saw it was the night we ran across London chasing cabs, and he claimed it had been a test. To see if I was going to be a good flat mate. We stood in the hall with our backs pressed against the wall and we laughed, panting and shaking from the running and the sheer hilarity of it all. He smiled, and my heart quivered. I knew then that this was something like love. The last time I saw him smile was right after I kissed him, for the first time. We'd just finished a case, nothing important even, but I was just so happy to be with him. He had turned to me, opened his mouth to say something machine-like to thank me, but I stopped him, with a kiss. It was neither long nor deep, for I did not want to damage his emotions too much. But he smiled when I pulled away, and kissed me again. Such a sweet smile. My heart aches, when I remember I will never see that smile again. I try to picture it one last time, but he is gone, and he took his smile with him. It is 3 AM and all I think of is him. Isn't that what we all think of at 3 AM? That which we can no longer have?


	4. Presents

It started with a carton of milk left on the kitchen counter on Monday morning. Now this wouldn't be all that unusual, except that it was left there by Sherlock Holmes, and as far as I know he has never bought milk in his life. He didn't say anything about it though, and I didn't mention it. On Tuesday, I woke up to find a tray with tea, bacon, sausages, and eggs waiting for me. Again, I wasn't even aware that Sherlock could make tea, much less cook breakfast. Still, I did not say anything and neither did he. On Wednesday I came home from a particularly irritating day of work to find a messily made bouquet of flowers and vines on the table. Upon further inspection I found that they were all poisonous. As a doctor, I couldn't avoid asking Sherlock about them. When he stormed through the door about an hour after my discovery, I asked him where the bouquet had come from. He told me, in extensive detail, all the different types of poisonous plants that had gone into making it and he seemed so pleased with himself that I didn't bother telling him that it was uncommon to use poisonous plants in a bouquet. I did ask him if they were safe, and he replied in a drawling tone, "Of course they're not. They're dangerous, John. Just like you." Then he had stormed out to do something or other and that was the end of that. On Thursday, we took a case investigating a supposedly impossible murder at an arcade. Sherlock solved the case in five minutes. Before we could leave though, he became enthralled with one of those claw games where you try to pick up a prize with a giant claw. I tried to get him to leave several times but he refused so I left. He came back later but didn't say anything about it, so neither did I. That night when I went to bed, I found a plush hedgehog stuffed animal on my pillow. It smelled like cigarettes and lab chemicals; like Sherlock's coat. I smiled and left it on the pillow next to me as I fell asleep, so that I could fall asleep to his smell. On Friday I was almost disappointed when there was nothing waiting for me in the morning. In fact, Sherlock wasn't even in the flat. I texted him several times but he didn't reply. By the afternoon I had gotten slightly worried. It wasn't the first time Sherlock had gone missing without telling anyone but usually he would be back by evening. The sun went down and still he wasn't back. I was about to call Lestrade when he swept in the door, face aglow and bursting with excitement. I sighed with relief but then annoyance swept through me. How could he leave me so worried? The least he could do was tell me where he was. Just as I opened my mouth to yell at him, he bent down on one knee and pulled a small box out of his coat. I recognised it immediately as a ring box. "John," he began but I cut him off by tugging at his shoulder until he was standing up. "Sherlock you don't need to do all... This." I gestured broadly trying to imply the little gifts he'd given me all week. "But I- I love you John." He stuttered, his face crestfallen and his lip quivering. "It's not that, Sherlock. I love you. I do. It's just... Well, I don't need all this. I already have everything I need. I have you." Then I kissed him and he understood. I didn't need the milk, the breakfast trays, the bouquets (poisonous but beautiful as he reminded me), the prizes, or even a ring, as long as I had him. 


End file.
